Kalmia
by zakuro crow
Summary: "We're like the light that powers the city, given only one purpose and one purpose only." Green hair, green eyes, and the unnatural points that her ears gave were all points to disaster. (OC-Insert reincarnation as Macuil's daughter, but not how you think.) Rating May Change
1. Chapter 1

She dies at the age of fifteen.

A construction mishap that collapsed. Her body is buried beneath the rubble, her consciousness going in and out and—

She screamed, full of anguish and pain. Debris coated the insides of her lungs and the corn syrupy liquid combined with her tears.

The concrete shifts and tiny pebbles pelt her eyes. The rest of the rubble comes crashing down.

* * *

It was dark. And wet. And… warm. Her limbs won't move. She couldn't even scream.

She hears the faint muffled voices. Distorted angry and wretched voices.

She falls asleep, exhausted.

* * *

The dark, warm, wet state she found herself in bounces—jiggles? It was like, a pocket full of knickknacks bouncing around in one tiny space.

Something thumps from the outside. She tries to move away but finds that she cannot move in this dark claustrophobic space.

Something thin and sharp pokes her. Her liquid prison bursts and her awareness fades once more.

A bandit murders a noble with the intent to rob her, killing her and the unborn baby.

* * *

It was dark and wet, and… warm, too. Her limbs were nonexistent, she couldn't open her eyes nor move.

It was the same prison she found her self in but back at the start.

She hears muffled voices. Her underdeveloped ears catch the broken tune of a song.

She falls asleep, exhausted.

* * *

Measuring the time that passed was difficult. It came and went. She slept without a care in the world.

She could finally move around. She kicks until she's tired out and tries to scream but is unable to.

She finds something attached to her stomach, tries to get her limbs to _get it off and_—

Oh_oh. _It was the tube thing that supplied babies with food—with nutrients to stay alive in the womb.

Her mind tires itself out at the revelation and she's asleep one last time.

_Ohnononononono._

* * *

She awakes at the sound of a squelch. A cold, compressed air hugs her tight as the warmth of the—her _liquid prison _gives way. A pair of large hands grab at her body, lifting her up.

Her ears pop and an explosion of noise fill her senses. She finally screams, kicking her legs.

She's given off to another pair of hands. This time, soft and dainty. Bony and fragile. Her cries turned into hiccups then to small sniffles.

She expects to see a blinding light. All but artificial blue lights settle down in her vision. Blurred but distinct.

Like—Like out of a sci-fi futuristic movie, with all its ridiculous machinery and useless but ethereal lights.

She was brought face to face with a gaunt-faced woman. Her viridian green hair was like leaves growing out in the spring, spilling out over her shoulders and clinging to her forehead. Her eyes were green, too. Unnatural.

Tiredly, she wonders if her new body will ever look as beautiful as this woman. Her new mom.

The woman had a tired smile on her face. Pleasant but exhausted. Her face was full of adoration. Love.

Her green hair surrounds her tiny body like vines and the nameless newly reborn babe catches the inhuman points of her new mother's ears.

It was quick and forgettable—a glance. She falls asleep.

* * *

_Maquia _is three years old when she realizes things weren't what she thought to believe.

At first, she thought she was reborn in some kind of dystopian future gone wrong and this was the life humanity lived. But, no, they weren't. Thankfully. Hopefully.

They—her mother and herself—lived underground. Yes, underground. Under where? She's got no idea.

Though, it did explain the ghostly paleness the citizens of this underground city seemed to wear.

Magic also exists too, to her delight.

Maquia retained most of her mother's features. The unnatural viridian green hair and eyes, and elfin ears that twitched. They stood out like the blue lights that surrounded the city. Her skin was a shade lighter than it originally was but not like the grey-skinned people that stared at them wherever they went.

"Mommy," Maquia tugged on her mother's green locks. The woman's gauntness seemed to be getting better. There was at least some meat in her arms but she still looked thin as a pole. "Why is e'ryone starin' at us?"

Her mother gives her a hesitant smile, tight-lipped but an actual genuine smile. "People like me and you are rare. Special." The older woman brushes Maquia's identical green hair behind her ear. She hears the whispers, the gossips, of bystanders that watch them. They walk off once her mother flashes them a grin.

"What ar' we then?"

In the background, they hear muffled sounds of children running around and laughing. Not the jeering and sneers they'd hear whenever they walked outside—no, just normal laughter. The underground city was still a society of people. Children, teenagers, and adults. It was still a place people can enjoy themselves.

Maquia, though childish, still couldn't see how humanity would change over time despite living underground for so many years. She didn't think anyone would thrive here.

She didn't think anyone would _survive._

"Do you see the lights, Maquia?" She picks up her head from her mother's shoulder. She blinks slowly, yawning as she stares at the thrumming blue light that powered the city. "This light is special to everyone living here. We're like that, in a way."

"We give light?"

"No, no." Her mother laughs, like a bell jingling and wavering. "We… we are only needed for one thing. Like the light, Maquia. The lights you see around here are used to do one thing. To give energy and magical sources to everyone. We're like that but for a different purpose."

"Is that…" _Why we look like we came out of a fantasy book? _"Is that why they keep lookin' at us?" Maquia whispers hesitantly, peaking a look at a small orange-haired, grey-skinned girl that stared at her in wonder.

_We're like the light, given only one purpose._

She found many things wrong with that sentence. Warning bells ringing in her mind.

Instead of a verbal answer, the older woman gives a nod and doesn't say anything else. They keep on walking, to wherever this narrowing city brought them.

* * *

**Kalmia **is a symbol of perseverance, but it can also be a symbol of treachery.

**Maquia **is a reference to Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms. It also means, **"The one who succeeds and the essence of life"**

I put too much effort into this and I don't mean the story. I mean the names.

-directorzakuro


	2. Chapter 2

Her mother slept for long periods of time.

It happens a few times in one year—each year as time passes.

Time—time wasn't a constant thing. Time in this subterranean society was useless. No longer could you tell what time of the day it was. There was no sunlight, no vast blue sky with ridiculous shaped balls of fluff.

Time went by faster than normal. Everyone had something to do, as there was nothing to stop them.

Calendars still existed—thankfully—only to keep track of the days and events to come.

It was useless, Maquia realized.

* * *

Her mother becomes ill during her slumber.

No longer did her skin glow when she was still awake. No, she was reduced back to the bony, gaunt husk she wore years ago when she opened her eyes.

She was like a dying tree without its sunlight.

The plague doctors—the mages get frustrated when her mother sleeps. Maquia is left alone in their care.

_They isolate her like a disease._

"Why can't I see Mommy?" Maquia asks, tugging on the hem of the dark robe that one of the many mages adorned.

The would say, "She's sick." or "She needs time to rest." or the regular response: "Her crest is failing."

She wishes that they could've said that her mother was dying but they didn't have the heart to tell her.

_They never did._

* * *

When being raised by her mother, Maquia had mixed feelings in the bag on how to feel about the situation at hand.

Her mother got looks whenever they went out. Bodies that would walk by flinching as their eyes landed on her mother's face; whispers and pointing at the out-of-place duo that was mother and daughter.

Her mother was beautiful. Beautiful like the fairies in storybooks and fantasy novels she'd read in her pastime. She was like the ethereal elves in the Tolkien series.

The mother that she knew and loved in her past life was nowhere near this new woman. Short and small. The ordinary human features, normal ears, and carried herself with her own confidence. This new woman's choices were decided by the mages that dictate wherever she went.

Maquia would've died for her mom, her old mom. This new woman, her mother, was a stranger.

But this woman—this ethereal beauty—owned a small place in her heart that carried her daughter's mixed feelings for her.

* * *

She barrels into her mother's containment once she's heard that she's woken up.

Her mother is there, open-mouthed and hunched back. Her green eyes murky and blank as they stare holes into the plain white wall.

The mage yanks her back. Something's wrong. Something's fishy. She struggles out of the strange man's grip on her.

He drags her into a fine white room with a mattress and simple beddings, flicks the switch and says his parting words:

"Your mother is unstable to be seen by anyone right now. You will be watched by another."

The mage closes the door shut. Maquia finds that the door is locked.

Time spares _nothing_.

* * *

They—as in the dreaded bird mask people—came in and dragged her out of her confinement to another room.

"We're here to check your crest."

She didn't know what they meant, but the delighted noise and furious writing from pen to paper spoke something aloud to her.

They had taken her blood and smeared it onto a tablet that beeped and—voila, a holographic symbol flashed in the air.

Maquia hears their mutterings and ignores them out of ignorance.

"—Macuil's Crest of Magic…"

"A success—"

She ignores them.

* * *

"I have a crest."

No response. Her mother sleeps like the dead.

"Is that why I'm special?" A pause. Then, "...I love you."

* * *

She's under her white blanket when they open her door. She unfurls herself, craning her head.

They brought along another girl, older than her.

Orange hair curls at her neck and drapes over her eyes. The odd look in this girl's eyes tries to tell her something when the teen's eyes roam all over her.

The girl skips over to her and grabs her hands.

"They told me allll about you! I'm Kronya, and I'm gonna be your best friend!"

* * *

Okay, lemme explain.

I've got a personal headcanon that the Agarthans somehow had created to a way to live a long life. And what is this way? I've no clue.

Anyway, I've wanted to try something new with my writing style when I posted Kalmia. I plan for this to be dark and weird. Dark on the graphic side, and Weird on the characters and how their own minds and morals clash with each other. It might start out boring at first, but I want to progress deeper into this until we get to canon.

I like the theories in the reviews, might I add. Though, I forgot doesn't have tags as ao3 does. Timeline wise, **_Kalmia_** takes place a hundred years before the series.

-directorzakuro


	3. Chapter 3

Kronya was an… eccentric girl.

She bounced with extreme giddiness with every step she took. She'd ramble on about the buildings they'd pass, the people she'd recognize on the streets, and gush about how extraordinary her looks were.

Kronya had no off button to her motor mouth. Her great enthusiasm put Maquia aback a few steps back at the sheer _happiness _she radiated.

At first, Maquia thought it to be strange. It was incomprehensible.

...But it was refreshing, she admits. The years she's spent in this life was either with her mother or the quick checkups with the mages that come into her daily life twice a month.

_But now she sees them every day._

She was uncertain, the mixed bag of feelings being fed the words Kronya says whenever she opens her mouth. She was unsure of what she was getting herself into. It felt too fake but it all felt too real to be something she'd regret.

Strangers. Everyone here were strangers.

She didn't have to get attached to no one.

_I want to see mommy._

So Kronya's buoyant eccentric personality pulled her right in.

* * *

The food in Shambhala was hard to come by. Plain and lightly seasoned. Vegetation was hard to come by, too. Despite being underground, this subterranean society still managed to grow it too.

Magic was so _wonderous. _

Food was expensive to the point that only the higher classes could afford it. Plain food didn't seem all too good on Maquia's side but living here for six years was all she could ask for.

So she was surprised when Kronya gave her a stick covered in chunks of blue crystal. Literal sparkles and glimmers emitted from the crystals as they bounced from each blue jewel.

"...What is this supposed to be?" Maquia had a feeling it would one of those rock candies she avoided in her previous life. Her teeth back then were full of cavities and silver fillings, and anything would rot them with one candy… Yeah, let's not go there.

Kronya flicked her own stick, the crystals echoed a faint ring and created a spark. Maquia's eyes widened, blinking. Unsure, she extended her own stick far away from her.

"It's a candy!" The older girl exclaims loudly, waving it around. Instead of sparks, an icy breeze passed through Maquia. "I begged my Gramps to make me some so I can share them with you!" She cringes when Kronya takes a huge bite out of the sparkling sweet.

"It's _really _good. Food like this isn't really easy find, y' know? Gramps was really reluctant to make these since magic's hard to replenish and—" She tunes out the orange-haired girl, focusing on the candy.

She hesitantly licks it, brushing the rough edges and corners. She blinks when she feels her tongue cool, like having a mint strip in your mouth but less burning.

Magical candy. Whoever invented it was a _genius. _

Maquia takes a peek at Kronya, who was busy chowing down on her half-eaten stick. Strings of thoughts and unanswered questions flooded her mind.

She shrugged.

The girl took a bite out of the candy.

She supposes that the magical candy was just for show and the delight of children. It was just as she expected.

It wasn't as sweet but the magic popping on her tastebuds made it better.

* * *

She expects to see Kronya come into her room, ready to drag her out to sightsee Shambhala. Again.

It's not her, disappointingly. It is another mage, drabbed in red and black, and the bird mask clinging to their face.

"Kronya is at the Academy right now." The mage—a young, soft but rough, boyish voice spoke beneath the mask. "I will be her replacement when she isn't available."

Maquia gives a quiet, "Okay." and goes back to staring the wall in peaceful solitude.

The man stands there, silent and still as a rock. The more her eyes stare into the blank white abyss, the more her eyes wander ever so often to the mage standing near the door with his hands clasped behind him.

"..." She opens her mouth to say something—her tongue dry and her throat closes up. She stutters out her words. "Do you know when my mother will wake up?"

She still felt quite wary of the mages that were around her. Often they'd guide her by tugging her arm or lock her in her room in the dark if they'd see no use.

Her mother—her mother would've openly disliked the treatment, whether it is small and subtle or open and big of a deal. She'd linger around her, blocking her from the glinting eyes of the people that'd stare at her. Her eyes would sometimes turn into cat-like slits, the mages and civilians alike scurrying away like mice.

She recalls her mother singing to her, murmuring a soft, achingly familiar song to her ears.

She'd tell her stories of blue skies, a shining sun, and the strong smell of earth and vegetation that surrounded the world.

She would've done more if it weren't for her frail body. She would've grown into a strong muscled woman if she'd take care of herself and go to the mages for healing.

Was it wrong to worry for a woman she'd only known for six years?

_(... Maquia knows something's wrong. The pit in her stomach, the gut that is trying to warn her. She pushes it to the back of her mind, as it is the least of her problems without realizing it… ) _

"You speak very clearly for a youngling. Did Kronya teach you?" The mage's hands come from behind his back, folding in front of him. She watches him blankly, an urge to remove that dirty mask of his face. "But your mother will be fine, with time and rest. Saint Zahras will give her closure."

Maquia doesn't say anything after that, the boredom lulling her to sleep.

* * *

"Hey, mom. I, um, made a new friend. Two of them, actually." The unsaid, 'I think' wasn't included, as it felt too wrong to mention.

Her mother was moved to a new room, with windows this time. Maquia could see the rest of the capital from her mother's room. It was quite lively, and normal at least. Smelled nice, too.

"The first one's Kronya. She's weird, but she's been my only company here." She paused. "But you're still my _'number one' _." Taking her mother's pale, bony hand she leaned on it and continued. "She made me run around Shambhala —the city, I mean. Not the whole capital itself—and showed me everything, really. It was… _fun, _I guess."

Silence flooded the room. The whir of machines in the background and the soft breaths Maquia breathed. Weakly, she asked, "Are you awake?" her small fingers prodding the sleeping beauty's eyelids.

"There's this weird part of the city Kronya brought me over to… it's got this _awful _feeling there, like—like it feels ancient but _wrong. _"

Maquia paused, picking her head up. Something lit up in her bright green eyes, and everything came rushing out in one babble.

"Oh! And there this mage that's Kronya's replacement," Here, she enunciated her words slowly. "Well, the replacement mage of _another replacement mage _for Kronya. He's—"

* * *

"—A friend to keep you company."

The mage who was currently watching her hands her a stuffed rabbit. It was childish with its baby blue button eyes and drawn in smiling mouth. Maquia dutifully takes it.

Kronya was out doing who knows what. Maquia was left to sitting in her room with another babysitter to watch her.

"Now, what do you say?"

This one particular mage had some sort of patience to come in and talk to her. Most of the time, they'd just stand outside the door like silent crows. This one was noisy and nice.

Just like her mom, but this noisy bird was _so open _.

"...Thank you, Mister Odesse."

Odesse nodded furiously, his mask bobbing along. She catches a glimpse of his face—a masculine and baby faced light grey tint that made her wonder hat he looked like underneath his mask.

The steel door was slammed open with a loud bang. Startled, Odesse jumped several inches from the ground. Maquia laughed, burying her face into the stuffed rabbit's fur to muffle the sound.

"I'm back!" Kronya, all in her dark combat jumpsuit and sharp high heels, comes barreling in with a sack over her shoulder. She shoves Odesse to the side like worthless papers, making him wheeze.

"I brought back from things too, so we can go through it together!" The teen drops the sack like a bag of potatoes and empties it next to her bed. "We can also decorate around here too, to—y' know, make the Bishops put us together more?"

"OH! We can also make Mister Odesse teach us some stuff from these things!" She proceeds to snatch something from the pile—a litter of books, worn devices, and pencils and crayons—and pulls out a book. She opens it, dust spraying everywhere.

Maquia sneezes.

"Please don't tell me you stole that from the Ancient Texts, you horrible child." The mage patted his robes for imaginary dust and adjusted his mask. He looked over the pile and reached for one of the books, shaking his head.

Ancient Texts were essentially the libraries here. Go figure.

Maquia spent a few minutes looking over Kronya's shoulder to get a peek at the pages. All in the place of the language she once knew, scribbles, symbols, and lines ended each line from top to bottom.

Maquia realizes that she's never seen the _true _language of this world.

Well, she's seen those magical tomes used on the streets but its pages were blank and bare.

"Psst, Maquia, what does this mean—"

She doesn't know how to read.

"Say, Mister Odesse, what's this say—"

She hears the mage's irritated grumbles and his slow shuffles. He takes-snatches-the book from Kronya's hands delicately like glass. Kronya's hands then scramble to take back her treasure. She let out a slight, high-pitched yelp when Odesse's gloved hand sparked with black energy.

His silence turned to mutterings, grumbles, and the crinkling of robes. Odesse clears his throat after a moment of silence, "Do you know what this book is about?"

Kronya scrunches up her face, "What's this have to do with—"

"This book is a biography of Agartha's second emperor, Zahras. He took over the first emperor after the Nabatean Invasion, mind you." Odesse tutted, "Now, Kronya, if your academics serves me right you'd be in your fifth year, yes? Well, do you know what this means?" He taps a column of elegant, blocky letters. With only his mask on, Odesse's voice grew a pitch higher.

It was as if he was thrilled about something, trying to urge whatever answer out of Kronya. Like a fanboy, trying to see if a random stranger knows all about their most favorite book.

Ugh.

Wait a minute, Nabatean Invasion? Zahras?

"Uhh," Kronya starts, "I don't know?"

Even with his mask on, Odesse's face fell and his shoulders slumped. He straightened back up again and stepped into the teen's bubble.

"You stupid, _stupid _child." The orange-haired girl hissed at him, taking a stance resembling a tiger ready to pounce. "Have you not been listening to your teachers?"

"What's it mean." Maquia cuts in, softly. Odesse had unfortunately fallen into Kronya's honey trap, luring in her victims so she can just make her own argument and _win her way out. _Their bickering was going nowhere, and Kronya looked like she was ready to end it in a plan B.

_("I'm always right, right Maquia?") _

"Whaaaaat?! Don't tell me you're interested in this—this nerd stuff!"

"It's—" She pauses, looking for a simple word that a teenager like her friend would understand. "I wanna know. About Zahras, I mean." She squeaked. _The Nabatean Invasion, too. _

Here, Odesse vibrated with excitement. The young mage contrasted visibly with the short-haired teen, who was groaning.

"As I said before, Zahras was the second emperor of Agartha. Though, to be honest, he's better left forgotten. It's why this _ancient text _was in the forbidden section." He paused, "He was said to be charismatic and knowledgeable, but deranged and full of savage nature, and said to have brought our ancestors here to live underground. With his status as emperor, Agarthans prospered."

"Oh." Maquia realized. "But why's this book forbidden?"

"A dictator, he was described as. Still is. I won't get into it much, but he is responsible for the Divide of Agartha."

The _Divide? _That sounded like a passage coming out from the Bible.

Seeing the confusion on her face, Kronya put in her own words. "Shambhala has two kinds of people. The ones that worship Zahras as a God, and the ones that just want to live a normal life." The teen crossed her arms. "Plus, I heard those Zahras weirdos created their own cult."

Then, Odesse grumbled out, "Your current emperor is one of those so-called weirdos." He was ignored, but Maquia caught it just in time. She opened her mouth—

"Who's emperor now?" Odesse shook out of his stupor.

"No one is."

She eyed him in disbelief. "But you just said—"

_"No one is an emperor, child." _

She blinked in surprise, taken aback. Kronya shot the mage a stink eye, grabbing several dull-colored crayons and pencils. The teen grinned, pointing at the blank white wall.

"C'mon! Let's add some color to your room!"

* * *

"—unusual. Odesse seems to know everything from historical facts to, just, unnecessary knowledge. It's as if he's got some split personality when I tried to ask him who was the current emperor of Agartha."

"And then, Kronya—" Maquia let out a small 'huh' when the hand under her own clasped around her wrist. "Mom?"

She whispers, full of uncertainty, "Are you awake now?" There was no response. The same old, same old.

Gently, she pulled away from her mother's grasp. There was a knock on the door, signaling her time was up. The pointy-eared child sighed sadly.

_Not this time, I guess. _

* * *

"Is something wrong?" Kronya asked, poking her cherub cheek. She pouted when she did get her answer from her smaller, green friend. The two walked down the narrow hallway, going down several stairs to get to the exit.

"Your mom looks pretty. Prettier than mine, actually. Mine looks _pretty _ugly."

Without holding it in, Maquia let out a small laugh. Her viridian, inhuman eyes sparkled with amusement at a blunt, childish comment.

The older girl gasped, "You laughed! Ohohoh! Are you gonna tell me all your hidden secrets now?"

"What? No."

"C'mon." The teen elbowed her, nudging her tiny body to spit out her secrets. "Aren't friends supposed to tell each other secrets?"

They stepped out of the automatic doors. The blue lights were dimmed, a sign that it was starting to get late.

"...Close friends are." She enunciated, uncertain of the answer.

"Am I a close friend?"

.

.

.

.

_"Not sure."_

* * *

From the depths of my mind, I have granted you all a 2K+ chapter. I now have to update all my other works.

Odesse is a real character by the way. He's not going to be as important but he's going to be here for a while. Zahras is a spell, too.

I lost my sense of taste and smell after a bad fever in April. I'm beginning to think it's permanent.

**-zakuro**


End file.
